


Richie's Great Idea

by honeycombkiss



Series: waited just to love you [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Ben Hanscom is a Good Friend, Losers Club (IT) Friendship, M/M, Post-IT (2017), Rated T for Trashmouth, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Teenage Losers Club (IT), aged up characters (14/15 years old), although no one moves away or forgets, coming to terms with crush/sexuality, freshman year of highschool, mix of book and movies canon, which makes this sometime late 1990, young gay pining and yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-23 18:09:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21324466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeycombkiss/pseuds/honeycombkiss
Summary: Richie would never burden Eddie. He’d decided that long ago. Eddie couldn’t know about the heart-stuttering, butterfly-inducing feelings that mocked Richie daily. He couldn’t see the box of hidden mixtapes underneath Richie’s bed with titles like the road to pound town and listen to when you’re crushin or his newest one richie’s gooey, mushy love songs.It was just something he would take to the grave.
Relationships: pining Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak, pre-relationship Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak
Series: waited just to love you [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1515326
Comments: 8
Kudos: 133





	Richie's Great Idea

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s an alternate summary: Richie and his friends Ben and Stan all love someone they think they can’t have. A club will give them a chance to share their secret with someone else—and listen to gushy love songs and watch cliché rom coms. But nobody counted on club meeting disagreements, disbandment, or a club crasher.

The pining sad boys club ended before it really began. Intentions, Richie learned, didn’t mean shit.

After the painstaking planning and sacred secrets shared between club members, it’d all gone to shit. Richie wasn’t sure if he was actually shocked, though, as he stood just in front of his front door, staring between Ben and Beverly. Beverly had a little bag hanging from her shoulder, and a happy smile across her features. Ben, for his part, did look sheepish. Guilt filled his iris’, hands wringing in front of him. Richie hadn’t moved, for fear of making a joke that would give everything away. Hopefully Beverly didn’t already know too much. Maybe—if Richie was lucky—Ben hadn’t given anything important away.

And so, nearly a full minute had passed, and Beverly and Ben still stood together on the front porch. Beverly waved, clearly undeterred, putting out a cigarette as she high-fived Richie and entered the house.

“What movie are we watching?” She asked, turning to Richie with a smile.

“Um, _Say Anything_,” Richie answered, trying to hide his confusion. The cowboy Voice felt perfect for the moment, “Why don’t you head on into the corral, lil lassie,” he gestured towards the living room with his left hand.

“Corral?” Beverly asked with a laugh, though she did disappear from sight, calling over her shoulder, “I’m hoping you don’t know what that means.”

Richie whipped his head around to glare at Ben.

Ben looked at Richie helplessly, guilt lining his features. “I’m _sorry_, Richie,”

“You couldn’t keep your big mouth shut?!” Richie hissed. “What is Little Red doing here?”

“I can’t keep anything from her, Richie! She asked what I was doing tonight, and I just told her!”

“You are weak, Hanscom! Love has made you weak!”

“What would you have done?!” Ben pinned Richie, though he was saved from answering by Stan’s sudden appearance.

“What’s going on?” Stan approached the front door, his grey sweater buttoned to the top. He was still wearing his clothes from school, clearly not heeding Richie’s warning of wearing something comfy.

“Can no one follow instructions?!” Richie ranted, throwing his arms up in the air.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Stan glared over at Richie. “I just got here!”

“You were supposed to wear comfy clothes!” Richie pointed an accusatory finger at Stan, wagging it at him, before turning to Ben. “And you weren’t supposed to invite Beverly!”

“Beverly’s here?” Stan asked, a bit of excitement in his voice. “Does that mean this isn’t a sad boys pining club meeting?!”

“I was trying to help!” Richie groaned, throwing his head back. “This is what I get for trying to help.”

“It’s a depressing club, Richie,” Stan crossed his arms across his chest. “It’s not helping anything.”

“Whatever!” Richie shrugged his shoulders, making his voice hysterical in a way he only sort of felt. “See if I ever try to help you two again!”

“See if I ever ask for it!” Stan huffed, before putting on a face. “Oh wait, I didn’t even ask for it this time!”

Richie couldn’t help but wonder when it had all gone to shit.

_~Three Weeks Earlier~_

It’s not that Richie hated history; it was just that the history class at Derry High was kind of the worst. Richie felt supported by his opinion when Ben spent entire afternoons ranting about how inaccurate their lessons were. Ben knew things from his education across the country—his family had moved around a lot—and the many volumes of books he’d read.

The only redeeming quality of the class was that Mrs. Wright loved group assignments. And both Ben and Stan shared third period history with Richie.

Richie hadn’t bothered to listen after Mrs. Wright assigned the newest group project. He could see Stan out of the corner of his eye writing quickly, no doubt copying down all the information they would need. Richie couldn’t keep still even if he tried, so he focused on doodling in the margins of his own notebook.

It was all sweeping pencil movements, drawings of dogs with flower petal hats, bunny rabbits jumping over fences with tiny _E_’s drawn inside hearts; anything to keep busy. Sometimes, if he could keep his hands moving, he could keep the rest of his body still. It was a trick his father had helped him develop in seventh grade when his teachers wouldn’t stop complaining about him. It worked sometimes, so Richie continued to try.

“You’re like a lovesick puppy,” Ben’s voice was soft; quiet but loud enough since the two sat side-by-side.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Richie turned his gaze to the other, glancing away from his doodling.

“E,” Ben pointed to the doodling on Richie’s page, where a block lettered _E_ sat among hearts. “Isn’t that for Eddie?”

“Psh,” Richie scoffed, internally cursing himself. He hadn’t even realized he’d been immortalizing Eddie in his admittedly _impressive_ drawings. “Why the fuck would it be for Eddie?”

Ben looked thoughtful for a moment. “I just thought because you’re always teasing him and staring at him and-”

“Okay, okay, geez, I get it,” Richie sighed, slumping his head down and allowing his curls to shake out in front of his eyes. So maybe he wasn’t protecting his secret well enough? Sometimes he lived in foolish bravery. Sometimes he thought it was something he wanted to face head on.

(Sometimes, Richie lay in the comfort of his dark room and whispered to himself, _it’s okay to be me_. Sometimes, he made a pact with himself to tell someone—_anyone_—about his inner most thoughts. But his courage disappeared with the moon.)

“I’m just going to rip this page out and you’re going to pretend you didn’t see anything.” Richie instructed, already tearing at the page of his notebook.

“I think it’s sweet,” Ben told him, his voice quiet and kind like Ben always seemed to be.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Richie punctuated the words, jumping into a new cover story. “You wouldn’t know this Benny-boy since you weren’t here, but I’ve always had a massive crush on Erin Page. You know, short black hair, is always wearing the color pink?”

“I’ve been here for like over a year, now,” Ben said in his little voice he used when he felt misheard, misunderstood. He made a face, before saying, “I know her,” Ben followed it with a nod, though he didn’t look convinced.

“She’s smokin’, dude,” Richie said, and it wasn’t a complete lie. Everyone knew Erin Page was hot; it was a universal Derry High truth. “I’d maybe even leave Eddie’s mom for her.”

Ben gave a soft laugh, though it sounded almost forced. Richie wanted the conversation to end. It felt like bearing too much of his soul.

“Whatever you say, Richie.”

X

The first Saturday following the assignment of the group history report found Richie and Ben in the library. They had a week left until their project was due, which meant that Richie was forced to spend the weekend between bookshelves and pages. Stan couldn’t meet with the pair that gloomy Saturday afternoon. Saturday meant Stan spent most of his time at synagogue.

Ben was bent over a book, flipping through pages and taking notes. Richie felt a familiar vibration just beneath his skin, which meant he couldn’t keep still. Ben had placed a book in front of Richie, but Richie’s mind was wandering.

His mind wouldn’t focus on one thing for too long. He was currently recounting the prank he’d played on Eddie the day before. He was narrating the whole thing to Ben, so he could enjoy the story, too.

“Which was when I jumped out from around the corner, and Eddie basically jumped out of his skin,” Richie laughed, watching Ben’s face for his reaction. “And he was cussing up a fucking storm, and his face turned all red on the tops of his cheeks and ears, you know how it does that?”

“I hadn’t noticed, no,” Ben shook his head.

“Oh,” Richie wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt _wrong_. “Yeah, it’s whenever he’s like overwhelmed. Sometimes with anger, other times embarrassment. Just kinda whenever he’s feeling a lot.” It was hard to ignore, Richie thought. Because Eddie looked so fucking cute when he was like that.

“I think that’s really sweet,” Ben shrugged, his features going gentle. And when Richie began fidgeting, Ben added, “I wasn’t trying to embarrass you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Richie said, all of his normal confidence and bravado missing.

“It’s okay,” Ben smiled gently, his soft features so familiar and comforting. Richie had never been entirely close to Ben, but his friendship was still enormously important to Richie. You didn’t battle an evil, killer clown with someone and not owe your entire soul to them. Ben was quiet and introspective and spent too much time reading books in Richie’s humble opinion. But he was still one of his best friends.

“Huh?” Richie asked, shocking himself with the ferocity of his statement.

“I mean, if you _like_ like Eddie, it’s okay.”

Richie froze. It felt like someone had whacked him in the back with a baseball bat—all of the air rushed from his lungs, pain radiating around where his heart was. Heaviness and fear of rejection making his skin itchy. He looked away from Ben and down to the textbook that sat in front of him. He hadn’t even opened the fucking thing, and it now took all of his energy to focus on flipping open the cover. He seriously considered getting up and leaving, but that would’ve been all the proof Ben would need. Pretending to read the book would have to suffice.

Minutes passed and neither said a word. Richie felt as if his lips were sewn shut, both a protection and a curse.

The sounds of the nearly empty library seemed to echo in the silence that stretched between the pair. There was the clock against the far wall, seconds ticking. There was the click-clack of the librarian’s heels as she walked up and down aisles. And the wispy sound of turning pages.

Finally, Ben cleared his throat. Richie didn’t look up.

“When we lived in New York for a couple of months, there were a lot of different kinds of people,” Ben spoke softly, and Richie could feel the burn of his gaze. “And my aunt, she lives with her best friend Janice. But they’re not just best friends. My mom and I threw them a housewarming party, and we went to their family Christmas party last year, remember?”

Richie didn’t move.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Ben spoke up again, his voice the ever same kindhearted. “I just wanted you to know I think it’s all good, whoever people want to love. I promise, okay?”

Richie couldn’t feel his arms, just an overwhelming heaviness. He couldn’t nod his head or use his words to answer Ben’s question. His tongue was like sandpaper, his lips sewn even tighter closed now. Ben couldn’t know what he was talking about; couldn’t talk like that. As if this were some fairytale. As if it would ever be safe or sane to live a life like Ben’s aunt and her Janice. It couldn’t be a reality.

Eddie would meet some cute girl, maybe a nurse. And they’d bond over medical terms and the importance of proper hygiene. They’d name their future children after medications and cleaning supplies. It would be a match made in heaven. And Eddie would be happy. He could live his life out of the shadows. It was what he deserved.

And Richie. Maybe he’d learn to love again. As if that wasn’t one of the most dramatic things he’d ever thought in his entire life. But it didn’t feel anything less than true.

Ben’s fingers flipped the page of the book, shocking Richie back into reality. Richie refused to speak or look up. Instead, he closed his eyes and focused on breathing in shallow and shaky breaths.

Richie’s non-answer, he knew, was answer enough. He hadn’t denied it; hadn’t tried to play it off as a joke.

Ben knew. Someone else fucking _knew_. And Richie felt both relieved and even more terrified than he’d ever been.

X

(Richie hadn’t ever thought his crush on Eddie would be something the other Losers could accept. He’d carved a secret R+E into the kissing bridge a year and a half ago with the hopes of leaving it all behind. He’d wanted so desperately to leave that piece of himself in the wooden fencing. He’d wanted to let it go, maybe move the fuck on.

But now that Ben knew. Now that Ben knew and _accepted_ Richie, his mind was a corridor with doors slowly unlocking. Doors that had been sealed shut now burst open with possibilities.

There was an internal battle beginning within Richie. And he didn’t know what he even wanted the outcome to be. It felt like a lose-lose situation; knowing that his crush might not have been condemnable to Ben wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t enough to have one terrifying conversation in a library, one where Richie hadn’t even opened his mouth. Richie couldn’t pretend that it would ever be okay.)

X

(But.

But there was always a look of pure elation and devastation that crossed Ben’s face when Beverly did something especially awesome. Which happened a lot. Because Bev was funny and talented and compassionate.

But Ben would get this look on his face; one with mottled pink cheeks, eyes squinting with the size of his smile, but a scrunch to eyebrows that gave away his true feelings. Beverly was a free spirit, and she probably wasn’t even into Ben.

So maybe Ben understood in some basic way. Maybe Ben understood that loving someone you couldn’t have was heart shattering.)

X

Richie sat in his room, piles growing all around him. Once he’d finally found the bottom of a week-old pile, he’d somehow created three new piles to sift through. Which was precisely why cleaning was a waste of time, in Richie’s humble opinion. But Eddie was no doubt on his way over, so Richie had to be fast.

After biking home from his excruciating library date with Ben, he’d thrown himself into cleaning up his room. Or at least attempting to. Eddie wouldn’t sleep over if it wasn’t at least a little picked up. Which was Eddie’s adamant request. And getting Eddie to spend the night was hard enough, he didn’t want to make it any worse.

It was hard to convince Mrs. K to allow Eddie to spend the night anywhere, but since It—since they faced their fears in the sewers and in their lives—Eddie had more bravery. Not in standing up to his mom—that wouldn’t have done anything productive—but in trusting himself and his own judgement. Sometimes, like that week, Eddie would stomp his foot and tell his mother that he would be spending the night away. Sometimes it led to Eddie being grounded for two weeks straight, his mother going as far as driving him to and from school to monitor who he spoke to. And other times, Eddie would play his mother’s twisted games until his suggestions sounded like her own ideas. It was a vicious give and take that Richie struggled to watch.

The other Losers had been busy—Mike wasn’t allowed to have a lot of sleepovers, Bill was grounded after failing a math test, Stan had obligations in the morning, Beverly had plans with her aunt, and Ben had Sunday morning chores he couldn’t get out of—so that left Richie and Eddie alone. It was both the best and the worst thing to happen to Richie.

Richie sighed loudly into the empty bedroom, glancing over to the dirty clothes pile that reached the light switch. He’d have to make several trips to the laundry room in order to transport each piece.

He bit his bottom lip, glancing around his room for a better solution. His eyes caught on his black suitcase on the top shelf of his closet. _Bingo_, he thought, a plan already forming in his mind. His hyperactive mind deterred from his newest task, though when _Take On Me_ started playing from the radio. As the instrumental followed the chorus, Richie abandoned his cleaning to drum along enthusiastically. It was slowing him down, but it would’ve been a fucking crime to not enjoy one of the best songs.

“It looks like a fucking tornado went through here,” Richie hadn’t heard his bedroom door open, so he jumped when he heard Eddie’s voice.

“Jesus fuck, Eds!” Richie threw himself onto his back dramatically. “You almost stopped my fucking heart.”

“I would’ve done the world a favor,” Eddie smirked, dropping his backpack to the ground. “But seriously, how does this even happen?”

“That isn’t important,” Richie got to his feet, slipping into his closet and pulling down his suitcase. “Help me pack this.” Richie brought the suitcase out, flopping it open at the base of the dirty clothing mountain.

“Where are you going?!” Eddie asked, sounding slightly alarmed. Eddie hated vacations, Richie knew; there were too many opportunities to contract diseases.

“Down the hall,” Richie answered, before beginning to stuff the suitcase full. He wrapped his arms around the pile, sliding it into the open suitcase.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Eddie asked, walking over to Richie’s side. He gagged, bringing a hand to his face. “That smells fucking _horrible_.”

“Shit, I know,” Richie continued filling the suitcase. “Kinda cool, huh?”

“You’re disgusting, Richie, Jesus Christ,” Eddie sounded funny, as he’d plugged his nose. “Were those clothes on a rotting dead body?”

“Nah, just your mom.” Richie had to push his entire body weight against the contained clothes as it didn’t appear that everything was going to fit. “Are you going to help me?”

“Fuck no!” Eddie nearly shrieked. “No, no, no.”

“Wow, no need to break it to me gently.”

“Shut up, Richie,”

Richie continued to struggle with the suitcase, pushing and prodding. Eddie gave helpful hints like _“push harder!”, “squish more into the corners!”_ and _“there’s no way that’s all going to fit!”_ Somehow, though, Richie did manage to get the entire clothing mountain into the suitcase. Eddie helped him slide the zipper across while Richie sat atop it bouncing.

“Gotta take me clothes down to the crick,” Richie whistled, wheeling the suitcase down the hallway towards the laundry room. His work was cut out for him, as his mother hated when he left behind loads worth of clothing. He was kind of useless at doing laundry, but he had Eddie so he wasn’t completely screwed. Plus, he was developing a new prospector voice so Eddie would be in a great mood. Whether he admitted it or not, his hidden laugh gave it all away. “Dagnabbit, gotta scrub out the muck from the gold mine!”

“That’s a terrible voice,” Eddie admonished, though he was smiling so his mock angry act was ruined. “Come on, at least try.”

“What in tarnation?” Richie gave a fake gasp. “This is darn tootin’ the best voice.”

“That doesn’t even make any fucking sense!” Eddie said, trailing behind Richie.

Once in the laundry room, Richie loaded up the washer—whites, darks and his neon colors—and poured in the powdered detergent.

“You can’t do that!” Eddie yelped, shock in his voice. “You’re going to wreck your clothes!”

“They’ll look better this way,” Richie argued. “It’s like easy tie dye.”

“You know it doesn’t work like that, right?” When Richie gave him a look, Eddie seemed to nearly explode. “Really, no are you really serious?”

“What’s the big deal?” Richie asked.

“The big deal?!” Eddie’s eyes grew, gesticulating wildly. “Your clothes are going to have weird splotches; your whites are going to be these ugly fucking colors and shades.”

“I still think that’ll look cool.” Richie shrugged, turning the washer on and pulling his suitcase from the room with him. Eddie trailed behind him.

“Where have you even travelled to that you’d need a suitcase that fucking big?” Eddie changed the subject, switching off the laundry room light behind him.

“I’ve travelled!” Richie squawked, turning to look at Eddie.

“Where?!”

“Around,” Richie offered lamely, before glancing back down at the luggage. “It is pretty big, though” Richie agreed. “Like my d-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Eddie cut him off.

“I bet you’d even fit in it, Eds,” Richie teased, leaning over to pinch at Eddie’s cheek.

“I hate when you fucking do that,” Eddie batted him away, frowning. “And I bet I would fit in, that’s why it’s so absurdly large!”

Richie laughed, throwing open the flap. He gave his wrist a flourish and gestured from the top to the bottom of the suitcase. He wanted to approximate the looks and mannerisms of a magician. “Why don’t we test this, my lovely assistant.”

“No fucking way,” Eddie shook his head. “I’m not getting inside that. You just had germ infested clothing in there.”

“How the hell are we going to test this theory then?” Richie pouted.

“Why don’t you get in it?” Eddie suggested, dramatically mocking Richie by gesturing at the suitcase and Richie’s body. “If you scrunch up enough, you’ll fit.”

“Alright,” Richie agreed. “I obviously have no choice. We have to prove to science and the world that a human body really can stow away in a suitcase. Airlines everywhere will need to know this. We could probably sell them this research, Eds!”

Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, though he did look introspective. “That’s not a half bad idea.”

“This is why you’re my best friend, Eds, you just fucking get it,” Richie flung the suitcase to the ground, before stretching his arms above his head and then down to touch his toes.

“I thought Bill was your best friend,” Eddie pointed out.

“That was last Tuesday,” Richie said playfully. “Now it’s you.” Richie bit his tongue, when he wanted to say that it was different with Eddie; he had a place in Richie’s heart that nobody could ever replace. It was tiny and Eddie-sized, and none of the other Losers even compared.

“Lucky me,” Eddie joked, a smile playing at his face. “Get in, already.” He pushed at Richie’s back, attempting to shove him into the suitcase.

Richie went easily, crumpling up and squishing his knees to his chest.

“Oh my god,” Eddie laughed. “I can’t believe you fucking fit!”

“This was your idea!” Richie pointed out, attempting to tuck his head farther down. “And you didn’t even believe in your idea?!”

“Not really,” Eddie said, leaning down to peer in at Richie. Eddie’s eyes were nearly green, as he had on a forest green polo. His hair was primly parted, gelled to perfection. And Richie, he was squished inside a suitcase, all of his limbs contorted to fit. They made eye contact and immediately burst into laughter.

The heaviness that Richie had felt since his conversation with Ben began to finally dissipate. Eddie’s friendship was easy and warm. Eddie’s friendship was vital to Richie’s life; who else would buy into his ridiculous fantasies? Who else would come up with an idea so spectacular?

Eddie didn’t know about the crush, and it was safe in Ben’s hands. He didn’t have to carry it alone anymore. He didn’t feel the urge to blurt it out at Eddie, as he sometimes did. Just as with their combined initials at the kissing bridge, Ben’s knowledge was a safe keeping way of delaying the need to shout it from rooftops. It could exist outside his body.

After a moment, their laughter turned to short wheezes and Eddie reached for the zipper on the suitcase.

“Uh, Eds?” Richie couldn’t see much, but he could hear the familiar sound of zipping.

“This is the true test,” Eddie explained, and soon Richie was plunged in darkness. “Can I roll you?” Eddie yelled, as if Richie was somehow far away.

“What the fuck?!” Richie called in response, which wasn’t really an answer.

“Come on, don’t be a coward!” Eddie yelled, a challenge in his voice.

“Fine! But if I fucking die, my blood is on your hands!”

“Don’t be so fucking dramatic!”

Despite being plunged in darkness, Richie could still approximate what was going on outside his field of vision. Eddie was no doubt struggling to get the suitcase off the ground, as he dropped it several times. When Eddie couldn’t compensate for the weight, Richie was tousled and thrown. His knee smacked against his forehead, and his finger slammed between his kneecaps. He groaned out, but it wasn’t obvious whether Eddie heard or not.

Finally, Eddie managed to get a grip on the handle and account for the weight of it all. With that, he began rolling Richie down the hallway. It was slow going, which was torture for Richie’s cramping limbs and aching neck.

“This is for science!” Eddie yelled, as if he could read Richie’s mind. “So I have to pull you down the stairs!”

“No, fuck no!” Richie yelled, punching at the inside of the zipper. “No fucking way, Spaghetti Head!”

The suitcase paused, and Eddie unzipped a tiny slit. Richie could only see his nose and left eye. “Are you serious?!” Eddie asked, not kindly. But it was his way of allowing Richie an out. “You don’t want to finish our experiment?”

Richie tugged on his bottom lips, gnawing on the flaking skin. He really needed to remember Chapstick, though each new stick was somehow lost within two hours. Plus, having sticky lips was annoying. He had no idea how Eddie did it.

“Rich? Earth to Rich?” Eddie’s voice was paired with the snapping of his fingers, bringing Richie back to their current situation.

“Fine, whatever,” Richie rolled his eyes. “Pull me down to my death.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Eddie said. “You really think I’d let you die?”

“Maybe?”

“Well then you’re dumb,” Eddie zipped the suitcase back up.

Richie began humming _Don’t Stop Me Now_ as Eddie began rolling the suitcase once again. It was uncomfortable, his tailbone jammed against the inner poles of the luggage. And whenever the wheels hit at Eddie’s heels, Richie’s knee jabbed into his chin.

The first stair was slow. Richie could almost _feel_ Eddie’s hesitation, his attention to detail. It was a slow slide, Richie’s body discombobulating. The second step wasn’t much better, everything sliding and smashing together. But by the third stair, Eddie had gained some sort of confidence. Steps four and five and six all happened in a quick succession, which was somehow worse.

“Holy shit!” Richie shrieked, as he slid down seven, eight and nine. “Stop! I’m dying! I’m definitely dying in here! I think my nose is fucking broken!”

Everything happened all at once; Eddie unzipped the suitcase—his big brown eyes full of guilt and concern—Maggie walked through the door, and Richie came tumbling out of the suitcase and down the last three stairs. She shrieked; no doubt startled.

“Mom!” Richie exclaimed, sprawling out onto the floor with starfish limbs.

“I don’t want to know,” Maggie put a hand to her eyes, as if trying to block out the image. “Out of sight, out of mind.” She skipped past them and ascended the staircase. “Don’t break anything, Richie, or I swear to god,” she called behind her, and Richie rolled his eyes.

“She’s just jealous she didn’t have this idea,” Richie said. “Her son will be a science genius and she can’t take any of the credit.”

Eddie guffawed, and quickly clapped a hand over his mouth. He looked shocked by himself, which was Richie’s undoing. He rolled over onto his back, clutching his stomach as he laughed and laughed.

_I cant help falling in love with you_, Richie’s mind sung as he fell asleep beside Eddie later that night. They felt both too close and too far apart. Richie had his eyes clamped shut, acutely aware of Eddie’s soft exhales of warm breath against his face. Eddie had fallen asleep what had to have been almost half an hour ago. He’d somehow shifted closer in his sleep, so now their knees brushed underneath the blankets. Despite Richie’s full-size bed, they huddled in the middle with blankets bunched up around them.

Eddie’s breathing was even, with the hint of a soft wheeze due to the changing seasons. His skin was warm to the touch—which Richie knew due to accidently brushing the back of his hand against Eddie’s arm.

When Richie dared open his eyes, he cursed himself immediately. Eddie was sleep-soft. His features smooth—the stress and worry of the day missing. He looked truly calm. And Richie wanted more than anything to lean forward and press their lips together.

(How would it feel? Were Eddie’s lips as soft as they looked? Would it be warm? Slobbery? Would Richie stop breathing? Because it felt like a real possibility.)

He could’ve done it. Eddie was a deep sleeper, especially when he’d been asleep long enough. Richie’s eyes drifted across Eddie’s face. From his thick eyelashes resting gently against his under eyes, to his prominent cupids bow. He was close enough to count the freckles that dotted his cheeks, could map out constellations, point them out like a stargazer. He’d done it a million times—there was the unicorn, the racecar, and the almost penis.

Eddie slept on, with a hand pressed against his cheek, his deep brown hair sprawled across the pillow and his lips pressed together. And despite his uneasiness, Richie imagined again how it might feel to gently press his own chapped lips against Eddie’s softer ones.

It wouldn’t have been a far stretch. Nothing more than the tilt of his head, noses knocking together, and lips pressed with little force for mere seconds. A memory that Richie could try and pretend didn’t exist, just like the more than friendship love that continued to grow every fucking day. He could’ve sealed it with a kiss; one he’d never get in daylight.

But he knew better than to act on the impulse. Losing Eddie’s friendship wasn’t worth a kiss. Having even this small piece of Eddie’s heart—afternoons pretending to drown one another in the quarry, Friday nights at the Aladdin, bike races through desolate city streets, the easiness of their conversations and banter—

Having even this small piece of Eddie’s heart was more than Richie probably deserved.

So as his mind wandered back and forth between the push and pull of his yearning, Richie counted Eddie’s freckles until his eyes felt heavy.

He was lulled to sleep by the sounds of his radio playing, paired with Eddie’s even breathing and his warm body pressed closely against Richie’s own, dreaming of a world where Eddie loved him back.

X

(And so it went on. Richie wasn’t so sure how he felt about clowns. Or werewolves. Or going missing and being forgotten. Those had felt like his deepest-rooted fears. Those had felt like the foundation of his mountain of fears. But fighting and beating a killer clown only a year or so ago had changed his entire perspective on _everything_. He wasn’t so much afraid of what lurked in the darkness anymore. But the love that only continued growing each day was terrifying.

Maybe, just maybe, he was brave enough to face this fear, too.

But then Eddie pinched Richie’s arm for a dumb joke Richie had told, all the while stifling a smile. He couldn’t hide it from Richie, though. He’d long ago memorized the way Eddie’s nose scrunched and his cheeks dusted pink when he was fighting off a smile or a giggle.

Richie’s heart panged.

Richie would never burden Eddie. He’d decided that long ago. Eddie couldn’t know about the heart-stuttering, butterfly-inducing feelings that mocked Richie daily. He couldn’t see the box of hidden mixtapes underneath Richie’s bed with titles like _the road to pound town_ and _listen to when you’re crushin_ or his newest one _richie’s gooey, mushy love songs_.

It was just something he would take to the grave.)

X

Richie had no idea if there was a right way to thank one of your best friends for accepting your big, fat gay crush on your other best friend. If there was, it probably wasn’t giving said best friend a cookie with a frosted _B_ on it.

Gingerly, he carried the cookie on a little paper plate, using his other hand to navigate his bike. It was nearly curfew on Monday night, but he needed Ben to know. He’d spent the last two hours baking cookies from store bought cookie dough. They looked disgusting, but Richie had taste tested two and could proudly say they tasted great.

The front windows at Ben’s house were illuminated, which meant the other was luckily awake. Ben’s bedroom faced the front and side of the house, so it was always easy to tell if he was at home.

After pounding on the door for thirty seconds straight—Richie had counted—it swung open to reveal a cozy looking Ben. His hair was ruffled, and he was dressed in an old-looking t-shirt and plaid pajama pants.

“Whoa, aren’t I lucky,” Richie catapulted into a voice, finding comfort in the slurring of his words. “You dressed up for lil ole me?”

“What’s this?” Ben asked, glancing between the cookie and Richie. It felt a bit scrutinizing, though Richie was sure that was due to the nerves.

Richie offered the cookie up to him, and Ben took it slowly.

“What’s this for?” Ben asked again. And Richie had planned a great monologue, though his traitor mouth betrayed him.

“It’s okay that you’ve got a raging boner for Bev,” Richie explained casually.

Ben spluttered, his face heating up. Splotches of red and pink colored his face.

“Richie!”

“It’s true, and it’s okay.”

Ben stared at him.

“Okay, I’ve gotta go. Y’know I’ve got a long list of women waiting for me to woe them.”

Ben laughed then, sticking his tongue out and licking at the frosted _B._

“Yes, that’s the idea,” Richie teased. “Now do that to Bev.”

Richie rode off to the sound of Ben’s surprised laughter.

And it was that easy. It was something they both shared now. Despite their inability to share it with anyone else, it was something they could share in the silence together.

X

The sun had finally set that Thursday evening, plunging Richie’s bedroom in darkness. Stan reached over to flick on the lamp on Richie’s bedside table. It helped brighten what the sun had previously. But it wasn’t the same. Richie was biting at his fingernails, tearing off hangnails and skin. Richie took advantage of Eddie’s absence, since he would’ve smacked his hand away if he’d been there. Stan would only make a passive-aggressive comment. And Ben couldn’t say anything since he did the same thing.

The three sat around Richie’s room, finally finishing up their history project. They’d gathered all the research they needed. Richie had been tasked with compiling all of their facts, Ben had written it, Stan sketched their required visuals and was now proof reading Ben’s writing. Richie spun around in his desk chair once again, although Stan was actively glaring.

“You’re distracting me,” Stan muttered.

“I’m so fucking bored.” Richie groaned, spinning again. He tucked his feet up so he’d spin faster. “Can’t we just finish already?”

“We’re almost done,” Ben assured him. “Why don’t you like run laps or something?”

“No way!” Richie shook his head.

“Please don’t,” Stan agreed. “I can’t focus as it is.”

Richie got up, deciding to find something else to do before his brain rotted. He walked over to where his backpack sat, before unzipping it and dumping the entire thing upside down.

“What the fuck?!” Stan snapped his head up again. “Can’t you please be quiet, Richie?! I’m begging you.”

Richie rolled his eyes, though he did mime zipping his mouth shut and throwing the key. Stan looked momentarily pleased, before glancing back down at the paper in his lap.

Richie turned to the pile he’d created, raking a hand through his hair. His backpack had become unmanageable and impossible to carry. He hadn’t cleaned it out all school year, which meant there were papers, folders and garbage galore. He stopped counting empty fruit snack packages after seven; he didn’t need to know. Next, he found a math exam from a month previous, a large red _A_ written at the top. He smiled to himself, shoving it under his bed for the next time he needed bragging rights or leverage over his parents.

“What’s that?” Ben’s voice came from his left-hand side, and so Richie glanced over. He hadn’t realized he had an audience.

“What’s what?”

“That stationary paper,” Ben pointed. “It’s not in English. Or any other language I’ve ever seen.”

Richie tracked his finger, sifting through the crumpled paper until he found the one of Ben’s interest. “Oh, this?” Ben nodded. “This is from Eddie’s planner. It’s in this language we made up in like sixth grade,” Richie explained, holding the paper up to his eyes and squinting. “It’s hard to translate it when I can’t write it down, but,” Richie couldn’t even remember when they’d passed this note, so he had no context clues. “I think we’re bitching about Mr. Connor.”

“That’s cute, Rich,” Ben smiled, and Richie’s heart stopped. He glared daggers at Ben, mimed slitting his throat repeatedly.

“Fuck off,” Richie chocked out, shocking even himself with the tone of his voice. “Seriously.”

“Oh, Stan?” Ben furrowed his eyebrows. “He’s okay, Richie. He’s the one who confirmed it for me.”

Richie spluttered, that intense feeling of discomfort flooding his system. His hands were shaking, and his head throbbed. It was suddenly so disorienting; he wasn’t even sure where he was.

“Your crush on Eddie?” Stan looked up. “Yeah, everyone knows about that.”

Richie’s body felt icy, as if someone had just dumped cold water over his head. “Everyone?!” Richie was sure his voice squeaked.

“Well, maybe not everyone,” Stan shrugged.

“How come no one fucking said anything until this week?”

Richie looked between his friends. Ben’s eyes were big, a look of uncertainty taking over his features. Stan’s features were ever still, a small smile tugging at the sides of his lips.

“I don’t understand what the big deal is,” Stan admitted, furrowing his eyebrows and glancing between Richie and Ben as if he could solve the mystery just like that. “You’ve always had a crush on Eddie. It’s just a universal truth.”

“Universal truth?” Richie furrowed his eyebrows, throwing Stan a _look_. How could Stan talk so flippantly, as if this weren’t the biggest fucking deal ever?

“Yeah,” Stan agreed. “Birds fly south for the winter, the Earth orbits the sun, Derry is a town from hell, and you’re obsessed with Eddie.”

“Hey!” Richie wanted to cover his chest, as if his heart were on full display. The itchiness of vulnerability crawled up his throat, leaving him feeling breathless.

“It’s true,” Stan giggled. “I didn’t think you were trying to hide it.”

“So when you say everyone,” Richie began, though Stan cut him off before he could continue.

“Okay, so obviously Ben noticed. I could tell that he knew something was up because he kept looking between the two of you at lunch. I confronted him, and we talked about it. Ben had already figured out my crush on Mike, too, so I knew he’d keep your secret.” Stan said it all so matter-of-factly, as if he hadn’t just dropped two bombs in Richie’s lap. He floundered, unsure what to even say to any of that.

“Okay, seriously what the fuck is this week?” Richie blinked slowly, made a show of pulling off his glasses and wiping them off on his Nirvana t-shirt. “Is someone about to jump out and tell me this is all a big joke?”

Stan looked offended. “Why would I joke about that?”

“There’s just no way any of that is true,” Richie shook his head adamantly. “No fucking way.”

“Ben, tell him,” Stan said, a commanding tone to his voice.

“I’m sorry, Richie,” Ben sounded sympathetic. “But, yeah, it’s all true.”

“Well fucking great,” Richie groaned. “I didn’t even know about my ‘crush on Eddie’,” Richie formed air quotes with his fingers, making a face as he did so.

“Now who’s making it a joke,” Stan accused Richie, pointing a finger at him.

“Yeah, yeah, trash the Trashmouth,” Richie mumbled, the phrase so familiar after years of yelling it at the Losers. “I get it.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Ben smiled easily. “It’s like Stan said, we’ve all got these crushes and so it’s not a big deal. We don’t have to like hide it from each other, and-”

“Shut up!” Richie exclaimed, suddenly struck with inspiration.

“What?” Ben looked confused and a little upset.

“I said-” Richie started.

“We heard what you said,” Stan cut him off. “And I know that face, Richie, and I don’t want any part of what you’re about to say!”

“Staniel, you are not prepared for the level of pure genius of the idea I just had!” Richie jumped to his feet, too excited to sit still. This was so much easier than the heaviness that had enveloped his room only five minutes ago. Richie felt a little bit comforted, as if some of the control he’d lost was back.

“Don’t say it!” Stan yelled again, looking more distressed.

“What is going on?” Ben shook his head, smiling wearily.

“It’s a Richie idea!” Stan groaned. “Which means it’s probably very perverted and fucked up.”

“You flatter me, Stanley, but try as you might you can’t have my dick.”

Stan fake gagged. “You’re disgusting,”

“That’s not what your mom was saying last night.” Richie smiled and winked, feeling more like himself. Stan only rolled his eyes.

“Okay, but I kinda want to know the idea,” Ben asked, all the while looking at Stan sheepishly.

“Oh blimey, lad, I am chuffed,” Richie slung an arm over Ben’s shoulder.

“You can’t just throw a bunch of British sounding words together like that,” Stan argued.

“Whatever,” Richie batted at him. “We’re gonna form a club.”

“A club?” Stan asked incredulously.

“Yes! A club,” Richie reaffirmed. “Just the three of us. And it can be our secret way to like,” Richie shook his hands in the air while attempting to find the words he wanted to use.

“Like not love alone?” Ben supplied, and Richie snapped his finger at him.

“Bingo! Bonus points for being super fucking poetic!” Richie fist-bumped a beaming Ben.

“The no longer loners club,” Richie said, clucking under his breath. “No, that fucking sucks. I’ll work on the name,”

“You can’t call us a club, because clubs have leadership and meetings and shit.” Stan spoke indignantly.

“We can have club meetings.” Richie decided. “We can watch romcoms and listen to like bubblegum pop and shit.”

“I’m not coming to any of those meetings,” Stan shook his head. “It’s not happening.”

“Well, I regret to inform you that you’re already at the first unofficial no longer loners club meeting. As your president-” Stan coughed loudly, shaking his head. “Yes, I’m your president, please bow.”

“You don’t bow to a president, Richie,” Ben pointed out. “A president isn’t a monarch.”

Richie sighed dramatically. “Fine. But as the president I will lead todays unofficial meeting. We’re going to listen to sappy as fuck music.”

Richie ignored Stan’s indignant muttering, in favor of searching under his bed. He was after his old shoebox full of hidden tapes. He kneeled beside his bed, throwing up the bed skirt and feeling around until his fingers came in contact with the feeling of cardboard. And dust; a lot of fucking dust.

“Aha!” Richie cheered, yanking out the box and flipping through it until he found the tape he was looking for. He popped it into the cassette tape player, the room suddenly filled with Sam Cooke’s resonant voice.

Richie waited with bated breath, until the first verse began, and he could sing along. His version of the song included standing up in order to twist and spin, arms arcing above his head.

“This is fucking _sad_,” Stan whined, rolling his eyes at Richie.

“I don’t know, I think it’s kind of sweet,” Ben disagreed, bobbing his head along to the music. “I’ve never heard this song.”

“Prepare your mind to be fucking blown, Benster,” Richie chose to ignore Stan, instead focusing his attention on Ben. “My dad helped me put this tape together, and it’s full of this sappy, gooey, mushy shit from the forties and fifties!”

“Why are you so happy about that?” Stan asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“Well ya see here, partner,” Richie tipped an invisible cowboy hat towards Stan. “Love’ll do crazy things to ya!”

“An hour ago, you wouldn’t admit it was a crush and now it’s love?” Stan asked.

“Jesus, Stanley,” Richie shook his head in mock frustration. “Maybe I’m just trying to embrace this side of me.”

“I don’t want to embrace any of this,” Stan said, suddenly sitting up straighter and tugging on the sleeves of his shirt. “We’re just dumb teenagers in the most homophobic town on earth and there’s nothing we can do to change that.”

“I have the perfect song for this!” Richie allowed his voice to pitch higher, to maybe sort of hide the seriousness of the conversation. He fast-forwarded part of the tape, before finally stopping and catching the first couple chords of _A Teenager in Love_.

As the first verse faded into the chorus, Richie watched Ben’s face turn wistful. It did that a lot—it was how Richie had first noticed his infatuation with Beverly in the first place. It was all kind of a _lot_, this whole discussing his infatuation, sharing the mixtape. He sort of felt like crying, sort of felt like laughing uncontrollably. It was all too new.

“This is really perfect, Richie,” Ben spoke up after a moment, cheeks pink and smile large.

“I know, I know, I’m a musical genius,” Richie mimed throwing longer hair over his shoulder. “And I’ve also decided on the name of our club.”

“Don’t say it.” Stan pleaded.

“It’s still our club name whether I saw it out loud or not,” Richie tsked.

“Okay, what is it?” Ben asked.

“The pining sad boys club!”

X

Richie was officially the pinnacle of a cliché. He was the poster child for falling in love with your best friend and letting it take over your entire life. Or so it felt.

His drapes were thrown to the sides of his large window. His window was cracked open, the last of the day’s sunshine streaming into his bedroom after a long week. Friday’s were the best; in the next hour he would be leaving to head to Bill’s house for a movie night. For now, his mixtape sat in his neon green radio, the romantic 1940s music playing.

He laid sprawled out on his bed, glasses laying beside him. The words of the song made his mind wander. He hummed along, tugging his purple, cotton pillow against his chest.

Sam Cooke crooned on about loving someone for sentimental feelings. Which was perfect, because while Eddie was fucking hot and adorable as fuck, it was more than that. There were memories of sledding down the big hill in Sherry Park when they were in fourth grade. And jumping off the highest cliff at the Quarry, hands clasped tightly. And there were the inside jokes they shared; how when one of them said ‘avocado’ they erupted in laughter.

Richie had fallen for Eddie with his entire heart and soul, just as a fool would do. And so _Heart and Soul_ was too accurate.

_Mr. Sandman_ always made Richie smile, singing along to the beginning notes shared between the singers. And despite the desperate pleas to have a dream brought to them, Richie wanted to make a different wish. He already had his dream, just there within an arm’s reach. But that didn’t mean shit, Richie reminded himself. So he fast-forwarded a minute and a half.

Elvis Presley’s familiar voice soon filled his ears, and Richie closed his eyes. This song had been stuck in his head all week. Indeed, Richie agreed with Elvis, he couldn’t help but fall in love. It hadn’t been a conscious choice; he hadn’t fucking meant to. But somewhere between school assignments, bike rides around town, movie nights, a million bad ideas, and blood oath pact, Eddie had stolen every last piece of Richie’s heart.

Richie pulled the pillow closer to his face, attempting to hide his smile from the empty room. Or maybe just from himself. Maybe he could still fool himself. Maybe he still wanted to. Or maybe by time he knew he loved Eddie it was too late to turn back.

X

The pining sad boys club had their first official planning meeting at Ben’s dining room table. His mother was just beyond a set of swinging doors, watching television as she cooked. They’d all been invited to stay for dinner, which Richie was particularly pleased about; Ben’s mom was an incredible cook.

The three club members all tucked into the table, gathering their things. Richie had given them each a checklist of things to bring—which he’d made during third period history and passed out just before the bell rang to dismiss them. Stanley had been instructed to bring a notebook, and a calendar. Ben was put in charge of a poetry book and the local newspaper. Richie, of course, had brought cassette tapes and a wooden spoon from his parents’ kitchen.

“Why the fuck do you have a wooden spoon?” Stan asked, once they’d settled down into their seats.

“So I can do this,” Richie cleared his throat, before hitting the table with the wooden spoon. “Attention, order please!”

“Dear god,” Stan groaned, rolling his eyes. “We didn’t even hold a vote. So you can’t be president.”

“It’s my club,” Richie argued. “So that makes me the president by default. You’re secretary, Stan, since you’re the most organized. And Ben is vice president, as well as committee planner.”

“Whatever,” Stan grumbled, though he did look pleased.

“Which is why you have the calendar. We need to find a day we are all free.” Richie explained. Richie sat straighter, deciding to lower his voice and speak monotonously, as a CEO might lead a financial meeting at a big stake business. “Which is our first order of business. But before that we have to start with announcements and our club oath.” Richie glanced between Stan and Ben. “Any announcements?” They both shook their heads. Richie hit the wooden spoon again. “Club oath time. Ben, please read us the poem you chose for today.”

X

(So Ben wrote poetry. And Richie made mixtapes. And Stan invited Mike along to go bird watching. Richie was beginning to believe that everything would be okay. Maybe nothing could go back to the way it was—ignorant bliss—but this change didn’t have to ruin everything.

Richie relied on his friends, and this was no different.)

X

Eight p.m. on a fucking school night found Richie biking away from Ben’s house and across town. He passed his own home, waving to his clueless parents. He’d called from Ben’s house, lied about needing to spend the night there.

Before Richie had left school that afternoon, Eddie had proposed a movie at the Aladdin, which Richie had been forced to decline. He could still picture Eddie’s disappoint, and it matched the disappointment he’d felt, too. He ignored the part of his mind that felt alarmed by the entire situation. He glanced down at his hands on the handlebar and sang softly under his breath.

It was an easy routine to sneak into Eddie’s room, falling to the ground and then popping back up quickly. Eddie was smiling, doing his part of pretending to be put out by Richie’s surprise visit.

“I thought we could play Super Mario Land,” Richie reached into his backpack to pull out his Game Boy. He picked at the peeling unicorn sticker Eddie had stuck to the back of it last month, stretching out his arm to offer the Game Boy to Eddie.

Eddie smiled, climbing back into his bed. He reached behind himself to sit up his pillows against his headboard.

“I’m going first,” Eddie said, patting the spot beside him on his small twin bed. Richie clambered on, sliding close to Eddie to keep from falling off the side.

“Yes, your highness,” Richie attempted a bow from his seated position.

“Oh fuck off,” Eddie grumbled, making grabby hands for the Game Boy. “You know the rules; when you use your three lives it’s turn over.”

“Ah yes,” Richie nodded. “And you suck so fucking bad it won’t be long until it’s my turn.”

“Coming from you, that’s hilarious,” Eddie pressed the power button, bobbing his head along to the little tune that played as the game started up.

Eddie wasn’t _terrible_, easily getting power ups and extra hearts as he ran across the level. His features were very expressive as he concentrated, bottom lip stuck between his teeth. Eddie scrunched his eyebrows, warm brown eyes darting across the screen as he watched carefully. His fingers were quick, pressing the buttons to jump and run and duck. His elbow lightly poked Richie’s side every couple of moments, as Eddie was aggressively slamming the buttons when threats popped up onto the screen.

“Fuck yes!” Eddie cheered quietly when he acquired a star, flipping across the screen and towards the finish line.

He crossed onto his second level, quickly collecting a fifth life heart and continuing to run across the screen. Eddie played Super Mario Land just as he lived the rest of his life; loudly and passionately.

“You’re going to break the buttons,” Richie teased, flicking Eddie’s thumb.

“If you make me die, I will hit you,” Eddie threatened, not even bothering to look up from the game.

Richie wasn’t sure he’d get a turn that night, but he didn’t mind just watching. And bossing Eddie around. He rarely listened, but Richie liked to pretend that he had somewhat of an effect on Eddie’s continuous winning. And although Eddie did not own a Game Boy, he was great at many of the games. Eddie could beat anyone at Tetris; his high score growing every week.

“Jump!” Richie gasped, as Eddie waited until the last moment to slam his finger against the button. “You almost fucking died!”

“You’re stressing me out!” Eddie reprimanded, though he didn’t seem outwardly bothered at all. “Ha, look! I just got another 1 UP,” Eddie sang the words of his sentence, purposefully jabbing Richie in the side.

“Aren’t you special, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie cooed playfully, reaching up to fuss with his hair. Eddie just smiled, leaning into the touch.

“Oh fuck, not this level,” Eddie groaned, biting onto his lower lip once again.

“I hate those stupid fucking seahorses,” Richie grumbled. “Look at them spitting shit and being ugly as fuck.” Eddie giggled.

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Eddie asked, before getting hit by a spitting seahorse. “Fuck!”

Without thinking, Richie reached up and clamped a hand over Eddie’s mouth. The last thing they needed was a suspicious Mrs. K. If she came in to find the boys huddled together in bed on a school night, she’d fucking lose her mind. Richie might not live to tell the tale.

Eddie, though, didn’t seem to care that Richie had saved their lives. That, or Eddie thought that biting his best friends hand was a great expression of gratitude.

Richie yelped, yanking his hand back. “Dude, what the fuck?”

“Jesus Christ, Richie!” Eddie glared, abandoning the Game Boy and most likely burning through all of his accumulated 1 UP’s. “Do you have any idea how many fucking germs are on your hands?! You can catch salmonella or a respiratory infection like influenza or fucking Hepatitis! Just from shaking another person’s hand!”

“I haven’t even heard of half of those infections,” Richie shook his head, inspecting his bite wounds. “You could’ve given me hand bite-itis.”

“You just fucking made that up!”

“You should be thanking me,” Richie glanced up and met Eddie’s eyes. “I saved our lives.”

“Whatever,” Eddie splayed his hands out, fingers wide in his infamous hand gesture. “But you made me fucking die, so I get a redo.”

“That’s so not fair!” Richie argued.

“If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t have lost all my lives!” Eddie glared. “So you owe me another round.”

“Sure, Eds,” Richie pretended to grumble.

It was easy to scoot down the bed and lay his head against Eddie’s shoulder. He knew he’d fall asleep like that, curled around Eddie’s warm body. Eddie would probably play until the Game Boy’s battery died. Which was when Eddie would vigorously sit up in order to lay his pillow down flat against the bed. He’d pat at the pillow several times, all the while bumping Richie and waking him up. They’d bicker at one another until Richie couldn’t bother to open his mouth again, still half asleep. They’d curl against each other, yank the blankets up to their chins and fall into a safe and warm slumber.

It was a routine they had nearly every week. And Richie could play that he didn’t love it, but he was only lying to himself. It was important to him, and he marveled at their ability to have such a strong friendship. They fit together in ways Richie couldn’t explain; didn’t have the words for. So he closed his eyes and let sleep envelop him once more. It was better to stop that train of thought before it progressed any farther. It was better to pretend that sleeping this close to Eddie was nothing but platonic. It was enough, Richie reminded himself, to have even this much of Eddie.

X

Richie wondered if he was mostly to blame for the destruction of the pining sad boys club. As it’s creator, how much blame fell on his own shoulders? He knew better than to raise his hopes, but it was difficult not to when something seemed so golden.

So really, it should’ve been obvious that the goodness of the pining sad boys club couldn’t last. Richie should’ve seen the end before it crept up on him at their first official club movie night. It had been too good to be true. And like most things in the shitty town of Derry, nothing good lasted forever. The three weeks of soft and guarded secrets had been borrowed time.

“You’re being way too dramatic,” Stan reprimanded when Richie voiced those exact thoughts in the foyer of his home. The front door still stood open, though all three friends stood beyond the threshold. “It’s just a fucking movie.”

“It was more than that, Stanathan,” Richie pretended to wipe away a nonexistent tear. “It was a brotherhood.”

“Are you guys coming?” Beverly’s voice came from the living room, shocking the three friends back into the present. “Or should I push play without you?”

Richie slammed the front door shut, before following Ben and Stan into the living room. Beverly had already staked her claim on the large, plush loveseat. She sat with her legs sprawled out, but at Richie’s insistence she lifted her legs so Richie could sit underneath them. He laid them in his lap once he’d settled down, pinching her ankle lightly.

As the movie played, Richie’s mind kept creeping away. His short attention span paired with the overall cheesiness of the movie made it difficult to sit still. Ben seemed to be the only one actually enjoying himself. Stan played with the hem of his sweater, unbuttoning and then buttoning the bottom of his cardigan over and over again. Richie watched him for a while, mesmerized by the simple movement of Stan’s fingers. Beverly picked at her nails, commenting every once in a while.

When Ben cried at the emotional peak of the movie, Richie tuned back in. Beverly had a big smile on her face.

“That’s really fucking sweet, huh?” Beverly asked, and Ben only nodded softly.

The movie finally ended, and Richie wasn’t sure if he’d stayed awake for the entire thing. Stan and Ben stood from the couch, stretching and gathering their belongings. Richie walked them out, not bothering to say anything. He waved at them, watching them bike down the road. He turned to offer Beverly a ride home, though she asked to stay the night and Richie easily agreed. In the year that he’d known her, they’d become thick as thieves. He didn’t think Maggie or Went would care; they loved Beverly. And although Bev was safe with her father put away, sometimes home life was still messy.

Together, the pair of friends raced up the staircase and into Richie’s bedroom. And although neither really cared, they still changed back to back, facing opposite walls. Beverly changed into one of Richie’s pajama t-shirts and a pair of plaid pajama pants that Richie was almost certain were Bill’s that he left behind last month; finders keepers, losers weepers.

They forewent brushing their teeth or washing their face—much more an Eddie activity—and instead flung down the blankets and prepared to just climb into bed.

“You guys aren’t really sneaky,” Beverly said, her customary smirk across her face.

Richie paused, looking up to meet her gaze. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“An exclusive movie night with a rom com, I mean come on.” Beverly stressed out the words, waggling her eyebrows at him.

“Detective Ms. Marsh,” Richie lowered his voice. “Have you solved the murder? Hadn’t we told you that nobody had even died?”

Beverly chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Okay, whatever,” she jumped onto the bed, falling down onto the mattress on her knees. “Don’t call it a club, but I want in on club meetings.”

“It’s not a fucking club,” Richie lied. “And even if it was, why do you think we’d give you VIP access?”

“It is too a club,” Beverly challenged. “And you need me, Tozier.”

“I mean if you want a club, Little Red, let’s have our own club.” Richie stepped away from the bed, slowly backing towards the wall. Beverly, still bounced on her knees, throwing him a quizzical look.

When his shoulders and hips hit against the wall behind him, he slid his foot back and forth against the carpeted floor like a bull before it charged. And then he did, bounding and aggressively mooing—which was how he figured a bull sounded—before jumping onto the bed. He tried to land on his feet, though he mostly belly-flopped and hit his head against Beverly’s knee. She broke into giggles.

“Wow,” she teased. “I’m impressed now.”

“I knew you would be. This can be our club, Red. You can watch me do cool bed jumping tricks.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Beverly laughed. “I don’t want in on your dumb club anyway.”

“Your loss,” Richie clambered to his feet, attempting to keep his balance atop the mattress by outstretching his arms. “If you leave our two-man club you can’t do this.” Now that he stood tall, he could jump up and down atop his bed, arms stretched towards the ceiling, palms hitting against it with every jump.

“It is tempting,” Beverly hummed, climbing to her feet, too. She did so with much more grace than Richie had. She began to jump too, hitting her heels against her butt with every jump.

Richie cleared his throat dramatically, preparing his best announcer voice. “Welcome ladies and germs to the semi-annual bed jumping contest,”

Beverly laughed again, reaching out to grab Richie’s hands when he stumbled. “Close call,” she teased.

Richie pulled away from her in order to cup his hands around his mouth, needing to keep the illusion alive. “At the foot of the bed we have Beverly ‘Red Fire’ Marsh!”

Richie clapped his hands enthusiastically, cheering for her in place of their nonexistent crowd. “The crowd goes wild!”

“Thank you, thank you,” Beverly fake bowed, waving at the piles of clothes scattered around Richie’s bedroom floor; he hadn’t expected guests. He didn’t feel too terrible considering Bev’s room never looked much better.

“But can she stand the competition?! At the head of the bed we’ve got four-time winning champion Richie ‘Power Ball’ Tozier!” Beverly copied Richie, clapping enthusiastically, and whooping loudly. “Red Fire’s up first,” Richie continued.

Beverly bounced a couple more times before spinning in the air, landing on her feet and pumping a fist into the air.

“The crowd goes wild!” Richie cheered. “She’s perfected her triple lux!”

“Thank you everyone,” Beverly continued to play along. “All of my training was worth it!”

Richie bounced a couple of times, preparing himself for his own turn in their pretend competition. Beverly’s laughter and happiness was contagious, and Richie felt like maybe she was his best friend right then. She understood him on a level so few did, and she was eager to play pretend with him.

“Let’s see what you’ve got Tozier,” Beverly goaded, continuing to jump up and down.

“It’s Power Ball Tozier, to you,” Richie corrected, though he didn’t hesitate, instead bending his knees and catapulting himself up. He spread his arms and legs, attempting to approximate a star. He did not stick his landing, instead falling to his knees and rolling to the floor. Beverly gasped, falling to her knees and peering over the edge of the bed.

“Don’t worry, I’m okay!” Richie waved up at her, rubbing at his knee where he’d hit the ground. Luckily a sweatshirt had caught his fall; and he maybe sort of wanted to call Eddie and tell him that having a messy room had actually saved his life.

“Power Ball Tozier?” Beverly laughed. “I think the audience can agree that you should switch to Klutzy Ass Tozier.”

“You’re just jealous,” Richie said, climbing back to his feet. “That I’m a crowd favorite. Let’s hold a vote.”

“A vote?” Beverly furrowed her eyebrows.

“Yes! All in favor of Beverly ‘Red Fire’ Marsh?” Beverly shot her hand into the air. “And all in favor of Power Ball Tozier?” Beverly lowered her hand as Richie raised his own.

“It’s a tie!” Beverly exclaimed, rolling onto her side in the bed in a fit of laughter.

X

Monday morning was slow and subdued at Derry High. Quiet, tired conversations could be heard scattered through the hallways. Nobody dared speak too loudly, as most of the student body was still half asleep.

As Richie walked the halls, catching eyes with classmates and offering waves to those who greeted him first, nobody seemed to know that anything had happened. His secret remained intact. It felt hugely important that things hadn’t changed.

Bill didn’t ask him any questions—which meant he didn’t know. Mike and Stan still chatted amicably about the book they’d been assigned in English—Anna Karenina. Hell, even Ben was still hiding behind his textbooks and shooting Beverly wistful looks. He wore his heart on his sleeve, but he always had.

Eddie, too, appeared to still be his friend.

“What the fuck, Richie?!” Richie heard Eddie before he saw him. Richie slammed his locker door shut, coming face to face with his best friend.

“Good morning, Eddie, so nice to see you on this fine Monday morning.” Richie joked, reaching out an arm to shake hands with Eddie. Eddie just glared.

“You know I love movie nights! Why the hell wasn’t I invited? Instead, I was stuck home with my crazy mother!” Eddie looked genuinely upset, eyebrows furrowed, and shoulders squared.

“It wasn’t even anything official or important,” Richie shrugged, reaching up to press his glasses farther up his nose. “It was just a dumb celebration that our fucking project was complete.”

“That doesn’t explain Beverly,” Eddie pouted, and Richie had to pinch his wrist to keep himself from doing something stupid, like blurting _Can I kiss you?!_ “And Beverly said you had a bed jumping contest! I thought that was our thing?!”

Richie very aggressively ignored the way that made his stomach erupt in what felt like a violent boxing match, his heart the punching bag.

“Eds,” Richie smiled, forcing himself to not fucking coo at the other. “It’s totally our thing, I was just showing Beverly the ropes.”

“Well you owe me a sleepover if my mom ever lets me have another one.” Eddie flicked Richie’s shoulder, and he just rolled his eyes.

“Whatever you say, Eddie Spaghetti.”

**Author's Note:**

> Richie’s gooey, mushy love songs - https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2d3rqcKJMTxixjhYBUiANf?si=FQidDok4SZeTMRmuInd8wg
> 
> And please head over to @eddiekaspbrak-lesbian on tumblr to suggest more songs that should be on this mix, or to just talk about reddie. 
> 
> I have never played Super Mario Land—though I am familiar with nearly every other Super Mario game—and so was very grateful for this video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PGLmpjWTTnI) while writing this fic.
> 
> Please also take thirty seconds or so to leave me a little review and let me know what you thought? Did you get the reference of the story title? Have you ever had a sleepover with your best friend of the same gender and wished with all your heart you could lean over and kiss them?? Just relatable young gay things! 
> 
> Thanks again for reading.


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